


Afterglow

by hermione_jean_granger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Christmas Fluff, Christmas at the Burrow, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hermione and Ron being idiots basically, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I know it's not Christmas anymore but I started it then OKAY, My first post ever on here and I am STRESSED, What would have happened if Hermione went to The Burrow for Xmas, Written to sound like the books so its 3rd person, low-key a slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermione_jean_granger/pseuds/hermione_jean_granger
Summary: "I lived like an island, punished you with silence, went off like sirens, just crying. Why'd I have to break what I love so much? It's on your face, don't walk away, I need to say..."aka what would have happened if Hermione had gone with Harry, Ron, and Ginny to The Burrow for Christmas in HBP (through Hermione's 3rd person POV)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	1. The Prologue

Hermione Granger loved the cold. Winter always seemed to give her a better sense of clarity. The stinging sensation that vibrated through her fingertips, combined with air biting at her nose and cheeks, kept her mind crisp and clear, similar to the sensation of splashing cold water on one’s face in the morning. In the winter months, Hermione had always felt wide awake.

Despite receiving the invitation from her parents to go home for Christmas (which had admittedly sounded lovelier by the day in the weeks leading up to holiday break, with Ron’s glaringly obnoxious attitude and the pair’s now nearly incessant bickering), she eventually opted to spend it at The Burrow. After all, Harry’s meetings with Dumbledore had begun to grow more trying over the past month, and Hermione figured he needed her support just as much as he needed Ron’s, if not more. Ron’s way of helping was to distract at all costs, and Hermione felt that that was simply not a viable option anymore.

She had, however, promised herself that she would tread lightly during the holidays. As much as she was an advocate for facing things head on, Hermione knew that a short break would likely do Harry some good. After all, not everyone’s head was as easily cleared as hers; or so she liked to think. Hermione’s thoughts had been much more clouded these days. Every time she felt she finally had everything sorted out, some new development would fly up and smack her in the face. It was absolutely infuriating, especially for someone who constantly tries to keep all her ducks in a row; at the moment, it felt as if Hermione’s ducks had been scattered chaotically across the massive expanse of the Hogwarts grounds.

This explains why, at approximately four in the morning, Hermione Granger was lying atop a camp bed which had been arranged for her in the corner of Ginny Weasley’s bedroom, completely and utterly awake. She rolled over to her right side, coming face to face with Crookshanks, who was curled up on top of a small, circular area rug that Mrs. Weasley had likely woven herself. His tail flicked lightly in recognition of her gaze, but his eyes remained shut. He would probably be back to sleep in the next minute, and Hermione studied his squished face enviously. What she wouldn’t give for a good night’s sleep…

She glanced up at Ginny, whose bed was supported by a poorly assembled, wobbly wooden frame. The legs looked as if they might fall to pieces if Ginny dared to grow any taller, but, despite this, she was sleeping deeply, her arm draped awkwardly across her face and her mouth slightly open. Being Hermione’s best female friend, Ginny should be just the person for her to unload all of her troubles on; if only those troubles didn’t have so much to do with her brother.

Hermione sat up, hooking her arms around her knees and pulling them into her chest. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to lower her thoughts to a more acceptable volume. After about five unsuccessful minutes, she angrily brushed her hair out of her face and kicked off her blanket. Crookshanks blinked his eyes open agitatedly.

“I’m going for a walk, alright?” She whispered. He was a very intelligent cat, being half-Kneazle, so Hermione didn’t feel silly talking to him as if he were a person. His ginger ears twitched in response, and she knew that, as soon as she slipped out the door, he would take up new residence on her bed.

Although The Burrow was a building teeming with character, Hermione felt that, had she done it herself, she would have been a bit more careful with the walls. The wind often whistled through the cracks, filling certain rooms with a chill that was less than ideal for sleeping during the dead of winter. As much as Hermione enjoyed a frosty wind, she enjoyed not freezing to death in her sleep a bit more.

She crept down the stairs, longing for the embrace of a warm blanket, taking care to avoid spots which had a tendency to creak. There was a little reading nook directly underneath Ginny’s room that Hermione had taken to curling up in since they arrived on Sunday, specifically during nights like this when she couldn’t get her brain to shut off. The Weasleys had a fascinating collection of books from the wizarding world, many of which she had yet to read, and Mr. Weasley even had some of her favorite novels authored by muggles; Hermione usually only cracked those ones open when she needed an extra bit of comfort. Tonight, however, she continued on down the stairs and past the nook altogether, until she reached the main floor. However, the sound of a crackling fire stopped her in her tracks. 

Her heart rapidly began to pound against her chest. With ten people staying in the house, she decided it was unlikely an intruder had set the fire on the hearth, but her hand still hovered instinctively over the wand she had slid into the pocket of her dressing gown before sneaking out. Hermione’s nerves remained, though. She had come down here to be alone, and someone’s presence was going to make that impossible. She made a quick decision and turned around gingerly, stepping her foot up onto the next stair. The plush blue armchair in the reading nook, she decided, was sounding much better now. And while this would have been perfect, Hermione had not watched where she was walking in all her anxiousness, and the wooden plank let out a loud _creeeeak_ when she stepped up onto it.

“Hello??” A voice whispered from around the bend. At hearing the voice, all the nerves flooded out of Hermione’s body, and she turned back around, delicately taking the last few steps down to the sitting room where she was faced with none other than Harry Potter.

Harry was perched on the sofa that was positioned directly underneath the window, a bit of moonlight glinting off of the frames of his glasses. He looked entirely relieved to discover that it was her, and Hermione assumed he must’ve thought that she was Mrs. Weasley. Harry twiddled his wand between his fingers anxiously, and it was clear he had been deep in thought before she interrupted.

“Sorry, I can…” Hermione’s voice trailed off awkwardly gesturing weakly to the stairs.

“No, no, really, it’s fine. I could probably use the company anyway.” 

She took a seat on the couch perpendicular to Harry’s, pulling the knit blanket off its arm and cuddling up underneath. In taking a moment to study his face, Hermione realized Harry looked exactly how her insides felt. The two seemed to be consistently on the same page nowadays and had grown closer this past term than ever before, Harry being the only person Hermione had truly confided in. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before she finally piped up. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Harry sighed and studied a knick in the wood of his wand. “Something like that, yeah.” A few more awkward seconds passed before he glanced over at her, somewhat knowingly. “Is it…?”

“Amongst other things.”

“Ahh…”

More silence. The two of them were generally comfortable speaking freely about their thoughts, but for some reason it felt almost forbidden to mention any of it within the confines of The Burrow.

“He’s going to come to his senses at some point, you know.”

At that, Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes all the way to the ceiling. “That’s rich. I’ll be Minister of Magic by the time that happens. But let’s hope I’m not idiotic enough to still be waiting around by then.”

A smile crept onto Harry’s face, and, after a second, the two were laughing, hands over their mouths to keep from waking the others. Hermione buried her face in her hands, giggling and feeling utterly ridiculous. She had never spent so much time thinking about a boy, especially when their time was growing more valuable every second that the Second Wizarding War raged on. Looking at her personal issues from this angle did set things in perspective a bit.

When she looked up, however, she saw that Harry did not seem to feel the same. The smile had slowly faded from his face, and he appeared to again be utterly consumed by his thoughts.

“And you?” She asked, carefully examining his expression.

It was as if she had shaken him awake from a deep sleep. Harry jumped slightly, eyes open wide. “What? Oh… well… a little bit of everything. If I’m being honest.”

After Hermione had confided in Harry about her feelings, she had carefully pried into his, asking him about Ginny. Being naturally quite observant, she had managed to discover that Harry was harboring some strong feelings for her, a fact that no one else, especially Ginny herself, seemed to recognize. On Hogsmeade weekends, the trio was often greeted at The Three Broomsticks with a clear view of her and her boyfriend, Dean Thomas, curled up at a tiny corner table, snogging. Ron, of course, had to make a gigantic fuss over this to Hermione and Harry, feeling so disgruntled that he often missed it as Harry grew quiet, all the color draining from his face. 

Hermione imagined that that was how she looked watching Ron with Lavender.

Lavender Brown was an absolutely insufferable sixth year who also happened to be in Gryffindor, much to Hermione’s displeasure. She had suffered the misfortune of sharing a dormitory with her since they both arrived at Hogwarts five years ago, and this year had been worse than any year prior. Hermione had always disliked Lavender. Her blind fascination with divination, a subject Hermione _strongly_ believed to be a load of old codswallop, coupled with the fact that, after Harry returned to Hogwarts with the both the Triwizard Cup and a lifeless Cedric Diggory in his arms during their fourth year, Lavender loudly voiced her opinion that Harry was lying about Voldemort’s return. Hermione eventually lost her composure, telling Lavender to, for lack of a better phrase, keep her big fat mouth shut. There had been thick tension between the two ever since.

So one can imagine that, when Hermione witnessed Lavender grab Ron’s face in the common room after the Gryffindor quidditch team’s first win of the season, and Ron succumbed almost immediately, she was finally pushed to extremes. She no longer disliked Lavender.

She _loathed_ her.

Not only that, but Hermione felt as if Ron, who went so far as to pump his fist victoriously in the air as Lavender practically sucked his face off (only egging the cheering Gryffindors on further), had committed an ultimate betrayal. As she stared at the two, her mind raced with examples of instances in which she had made her feelings for Lavender abundantly clear. _How could he do that with someone like her? Didn’t he think about the fact that it might bother me? And to think, I used a bloody confundus charm to help him get on the quidditch team in the first place…_

But it was in that moment that Hermione realized she had passed the point of ‘bothered’. Her heart was deep in the pit of her stomach, and the previously explosive noise around her suddenly sounded muffled. As the heat rose to her cheeks, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd, slipping through the Fat Lady’s portrait. When she came across an empty classroom, Hermione disappeared quietly inside, on the pretense that she was simply going to practice some charms. However, she eventually realized that she needed to come to terms with her feelings instead. 

So, while she half heartedly conjured up a few, admittedly impressive, canaries using the _avis_ charm, Hermione cried. She cried because Ron was a complete ass. She cried because Lavender was giggly and obnoxious and awful. But, above all, Hermione cried because of the lump in her throat and the pit in her stomach and the fact that she was somehow experiencing intense feelings for Ronald Weasley.

And she hated it.

Harry discovered Hermione later, sitting down to keep her company. He did eventually answer her question about Ginny, saying, in a low voice, that seeing her with Dean “felt like this”, gesturing to Hermione’s splotchy face and wet cheeks. At that, the tears pooling in Hermione’s eyes spilled over once more, and Harry carefully wrapped his arm around her, letting her weep quietly for a while longer. Their silence was eventually interrupted by none other than Ron and Lavender, who seemed to be looking for a private room. 

But Hermione didn’t want to think about that part tonight. 

“We’re quite a mess, aren’t we?” Harry said suddenly, bringing Hermione back into the present. 

She smiled slightly. “We certainly look it, don’t we?”

“Well, let’s hope I can pull myself together or we’ll all be dead in the next year.” Harry replied dryly. And, as much as Hermione knew he was joking, she was not so naive to think that there was not a terrible truth to his words as well. A lot was riding on him. A lot was riding on all of them.

“Hermione?”

Her eyes flickered away from the picture of Ron, Fred, and George bobbing up and down on their brooms in the backyard (it was a particularly charming picture of Ron, with his bright smile and flushed cheeks; Mrs. Weasley had taken it three summers ago, just before they all left for the Quidditch World Cup) that they had settled on and met Harry’s. 

“Will you…” His gaze dropped back to his wand nervously. “Will you just let me know if she says anything about me while we’re here? Ginny, I mean. Since you’re staying with her, and all.”

“Of course, Harry.”

“Thanks.”

Heavy silence filled the room.

“He’s going to come to his senses, Hermione.”

She exhaled softly, and, in a very small voice, murmured, “I hope so.”


	2. December 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! I am so glad people liked the prologue of this story, hopefully this next part lives up to your expectations :) The second half of the chapter is probably my favorite part, but let me know what you think in the comments!

Christmas holiday at The Burrow was magical. Of course, it was filled with magic in the way it always was, with the pots and pans washing themselves over the sink and the knitting needles moving despite no one holding them, but it was magical in a more special way as well; everything had a bit more cheer to it. There was fresh pine garland adorning the stairwell, with little red flowers poking out all around. They awoke to a new layer of snow blanketing everything each morning as well, making the glow of fire and Christmas lanterns from inside the little house all the more inviting. 

Because there was much to be done in the days leading up to Christmas, Mrs. Weasley was usually shaking them all awake at six o’clock in the morning to perform tasks like de-gnoming the hedges (in all the snow and ice, the pests had still managed to hole up in the yard by tucking themselves deep inside the branches) or tending to the fire. Hermione and Ginny usually helped Mrs. Weasley make breakfast, and then the lot of them would all sit down to eat before Mr. Weasley left for work. Hermione reckoned that this would be the last morning Mr. Weasley had to rush off to the Ministry, considering Christmas was now only two days away and, although things were looking bleak in the wizarding world at the moment, he would have insisted on getting a few days off to spend time with his family.

At around five thirty, Hermione and Harry had snuck back upstairs, so as to not cause suspicion when Mrs. Weasley eventually came to wake them. Before taking the last few stairs up to Ron’s room, which was on the top floor of the house, Harry awkwardly reached out his hand and grabbed Hermione’s shoulder, as if to remind her that they were ‘in this together'. She couldn’t help but notice the irony in her slipping into Ginny’s room as Harry rejoined Ron in his.

Nearly an hour later, Mrs. Weasley came knocking on the girls’ door. Hermione sat up gingerly before yelling, “Come in!”

Mrs. Weasley carefully sidled into the room, and, at the sight of Hermione stroking a purring Crookshanks, remarked, “Oh, Hermione, dear, so glad you’re already up,” Her eyes shifted over to Ginny, who was still deeply unconscious. “Ginny, dear?” When she received no response, Mrs. Weasley strode over and pulled the blankets off her, shaking her awake. “We’ve got work to do!” She stated matter of factly. Ginny groaned, sitting up with her hands over her eyes. “I let you sleep an extra bit because it’s nearly Christmas, but we’ve got to get moving!”

She hurried out of the girls’ room and Ginny finally opened her eyes, squinting at the light that Mrs. Weasley had charmed on before leaving. “This is nutty, right?” Ginny asked incredulously, turning her head to look back over at Hermione. “Waking up at six thirty in the morning the day before Christmas Eve?”

“Well, I reckon we’ll get to sleep late tomorrow. Since your dad won’t be working in the morning.” As Ginny considered this fact, she perked up quite a bit.

As the two made their way downstairs, a loud _smack_ reverberated through the house. “Ouch, Ron! My bloody hand was right there!” George yelped from the first floor. Ginny and Hermione exchanged knowing looks and hurried down to the sitting room to see what the fuss was about.

“Well then don’t hold it there, mate! For Christ’s sake…”

“ _Language_ , Ron!” Mrs. Weasley shouted from the kitchen. In frustration, Ron dropped the log he was holding and opened his mouth to retort, but Fred and George cut him off just in time.

“Yeah, Ron, _language_!” The twins mocked simultaneously, quickly slipping into the kitchen to knick some food. Harry snickered from behind Ron.

“And what are _you_ doing to help?” Hermione asked from the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed and grinning at Harry.

“Absolutely nothing, I’ll tell you that! ‘Supervising’ he says. Sounds like a load of--” Ron stopped in his tracks as he made eye contact with Hermione, no longer caught up in the madness of the situation and suddenly remembering he was meant to be angry with her. An awkward silence settled over the four of them. 

“Why don’t I help you de-gnome a bit, Harry.” said Ginny rather uncomfortably. Hermione knew that she was just trying to avoid witnessing another row between her and Ron, but she smiled inwardly for Harry.

“Sure, alright.” He quickly followed her out to the yard, leaving Hermione and Ron alone in the room.

“Eh… Hermione--”

“What?” She said tensely, nearly snapping at him. Why did she always do that? It was like a reflex, responding to Ron that way. She was so on edge these days it was getting harder to control.

He looked at her, almost taken aback. “Nevermind then.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She almost wanted to apologize, but saving face won out. She mumbled something along the lines of “see you at breakfast” and scurried into the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley with the food.

“I think that’s a new record,” Fred said when Hermione entered the room, his mouth stuffed with scones. “The longest conversation between Ron and Hermione without one of you biting the other’s head off!”

She rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Fred was only joking; she did, however, feel rather exhausted of the verbal and emotional war happening between her and Ron. Although Hermione and Ron had always been a pair who enjoyed a good argument, they were usually in good fun and the two had made up by dinner. This one, however, had lasted much longer. Hermione wasn’t even quite sure what had triggered Ron in the first place, feeling as though she had done absolutely nothing to make him angry. She had, at first, written it off as pent up anger over Dean and Ginny’s frequent public displays of affection but, just before the Lavender incident, Ron’s bad moods seemed to be more specifically targeted at Hermione. She couldn’t help but feel that him snogging a girl he had never shown a drop of interest in right in front of her was a direct product of something she had done.

She also knew, though, that thinking about it in this way was merely her projecting her own feelings onto Ron. It was what she hoped, deep down, but didn’t want to admit. If Ron was snogging Lavender simply to get under her skin, then it meant that he was jealous. Which seemed absolutely implausible, considering the last time she had shown any interest in a boy was this time last year when she was still writing Viktor.

As Hermione diced some tomatoes for Mrs. Weasley, she glanced out the window to see how things were going with Harry and Ginny. She mentally crossed her fingers that he wasn’t acting awkwardly towards her; Harry had a bit of a tendency to freeze up around girls he liked. It used to happen constantly around Cho, and had begun to happen more with Ginny these past few months of term. To Hermione’s delight, the two were having a bit of a snowball fight and Harry was looking particularly relaxed. Ginny smacked him in the face with a thick mound of snow, and the pair broke into bright laughter. 

Mrs. Weasley pulled Hermione from her thoughts, letting her know she was going out to the frozen garden to try and recover some herbs, and the twins disappeared up to their room, likely to discuss business of some kind. Turning her gaze back to Harry and Ginny, Hermione realized that she felt quite alone. She spent a few more minutes chopping up the other vegetables for a scramble until she couldn’t seem to grip the knife without nearly slicing her finger open. Drying her hands off on an old kitchen towel, she grabbed one of the cookbooks off the shelf to see if she could find anything of interest inside. After only a few seconds of flipping through, however, someone cleared their throat from behind her.

Ron was standing in the archway of the kitchen, looking rather uncomfortable. Hermione stared back at him, unable to find the words to respond.

“I’m just… I wanted a scone.”

Of course that was it. He wanted food, not to talk to her. Talking to her was the obstacle he had to face prior to achieving the end goal which, evidently, was just a day old cranberry scone. Hermione gestured half heartedly to the basket of pastries sitting on the edge of the table and turned back to the pages of the cookbook. The seconds of quiet that passed dragged on like hours. She could feel Ron watching her read, and part of her wanted to whirl around and ask what on earth his problem was. Before she could, he piped up.

“Oi, Hermione?”

She closed the book carefully, trying to keep her composure. Turning around slowly, she raised an eyebrow and responded, “Yes?”

Ron dropped his gaze to the table. “I was thinking that we should… you know… maybe give it a rest for Christmas.”

Heat rushed to Hermione’s cheeks. He couldn’t _possibly_ be talking about their arguing? After all, Ron had completely sparked the whole issue in the first place. Why was he acting as if it was her choice?

“Give it a rest?? Ronald, you’ve been… absolutely _insufferable_ for months and you’re telling me that you’re just going to ‘give it a rest’ for the holidays? Like you’re on some… vacation?! You should have given it a rest a long time ago, if it’s so simple for you!”

“ _I’ve_ been insufferable? Blimey, Hermione, it’s like you’ve been looking for reasons to attack me at every second all term!” He waved his scone wildly in the air as he spoke. “Not to mention, and I’ve been meaning to bring this up, you know, but you’re always talking badly about Lavender. You could at least try and be happy for me. I mean, Harry may find her a bit… annoying, but at least he’s putting in an effort!”

She scoffed in utter disbelief of the things coming out of his mouth. “You’re joking! _Happy_ for you? Why, because you’ve accomplished the incredible feat of snaring a girl who could hardly tell the difference between a pigmy puff and a troll?” Hermione was furious now, desperately clenching her hands into fists to keep from shaking; it was emotional war.

“At least she’s fun! Ever since the Hall of Prophecies last year it’s like you don’t know how to do anything but study and strategize.”

“We… we’re in a WAR, Ronald! Are you completely incapable of understanding what that means?!”

Ron pulled out the sharpest verbal knife he could conjure and drove it home. “Harry agrees,” he retorted shortly. At that moment, Ginny and Harry entered in through the back door, looking flushed and giddy. However, at seeing the furious look on Hermione’s face now being directed at him, and hearing Ron say “Don’t you, Harry?” any joy Harry was feeling disappeared.

“Is that… is that true?” Hermione asked him, completely thrown off by this development. She dug her nails into her palm in an attempt to keep the tears welling in her eyes at bay.

“I’m afraid to ask…” Harry said slowly. Ginny, being incredibly stealthy, slipped out of the kitchen and up to her room almost unnoticed, allowing the three to be alone for a moment.

“Tell her. What we were talking about a few days ago, about how she’s been no fun at all this term,” Hermione’s eyes were boring into Harry’s head. “Worse than usual.” Ron added, for good measure.

“That’s not exactly what I said…” At this weak response, Hermione had all the information she needed and walked straight out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She heard Harry shout, “Hermione, wait!” from below, but just kept walking. The last thing she heard before closing the door to the balcony attached to the reading nook was Ron shouting, “Go on! Go and write _Vicky_ about it, then!”

As soon as Hermione was alone, a harsh sob escaped her throat. She slid down to the frosty ground, leaning against the railing for support. The tears seemed to freeze against her cheeks as a flurry of ice whirled around outside. This had easily been their worst argument yet. It was clear that Ron had resulted to cheap shots and emotional digs, and Hermione could not fathom where to go from here. 

Seconds later, Harry bounded through the door, looking flustered and out of breath. “Ron… he… twisted my words around. Because he’s angry,” Hermione was feeling incredibly unconvinced. “What I meant was just… you’ve been acting differently… Which you have. Because you’ve been… going through a lot,” More silence. Once Harry finally seemed to compose himself, he managed to get out, “Hermione, look. He’ll say anything to win an argument, you know that.”

“He told me I should be _happy_ for him.”

“I don’t--”

“He said that even though you find Lavender… annoying… you’re still _trying_ and that I need to… try harder.”

Silence settled on the frozen air. It was clear that Harry had absolutely no idea how to respond to this. The two basked in the quiet for a minute more, until the door creaked open and Ginny slipped out onto the balcony.

“Well that was rather nasty, wasn’t it?” She winced.

“You don’t even know the half of it.” Harry remarked bitterly, releasing the breath he had been holding.

“Are you okay?” Ginny asked, shifting her gaze to Hermione. Hermione nodded her head in a rather unconvincing manner. “Well, at least come inside. It’s bloody freezing out here.” She concluded, holding out a hand. Hermione took it, begrudgingly following the two inside to the nook and settling herself into the cushy armchair.

“Hermione, _are_ you still writing Krum?”

Hermione considered this for a moment. “Not since last Christmas. Why?”

Harry pursed his lips slightly. “Just wondering.”

“What happened to the two of you this term? Your bickering has turned into… sniping.” remarked Ginny, who had now taken up residence on the arm of Hermione’s chair. Harry leaned cooly against the wall opposite the girls.

“Trust me, if I knew, I’d have put a stop to it by now.” She said, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes. Comfortable and warm on the plush cushions, Hermione felt as though she’d fancy a kip. She quickly thought better of it, though, knowing that the second she’d decide to go to sleep, her mind would buzz back to life and poke at her with intrusive thoughts.

Suddenly, Ron bounded up the stairs and entered the nook. Without so much as a glance at Hermione, he remarked to Ginny, “Mum says you and Hermione ought to go to Diagon Alley later to pick up a few last minute bits for her, since everyone else arrives tonight.”

“You know, you might try actually looking at her when you’re passing _both of us_ information.” Ginny retorted, arms crossed sternly.

“I’m not saying it again,” He said curtly, still refusing to look Hermione in the eye. “Also, it’s time for breakfast. Dad has to leave for work soon.” 

And with that, Ron disappeared back downstairs, likely so he could attempt to shovel down as much food as possible before Hermione made herself a plate, then promptly excuse himself from the table early to avoid conversation. “Merlin, he’s an ass today.” Ginny said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Breakfast was no better. While Mrs. Weasley refused to let Ron excuse himself two minutes into everyone sitting down ( _“It’s the holidays, Ron!”_ ), he was incredibly cold towards not only Hermione, but Harry as well. It seemed as though he now believed the two were conspiring against him, since witnessing the lack of support he received from Harry in the midst of this morning’s row. He ate his eggs with a very bitter look plastered across his face and refused to pass any food to anyone who asked. At one point, George looked over at Ron agitatedly, asking, “Are you going to pass me the bloody toast, or am I going to have to jinx you in your sleep?” This earned him a smack upside the head from Mrs. Weasley, but Ron did give in and, with a look of apprehension, pass the small basket of bread his way.

After Mr. Weasley left for work, Fred and George informed Hermione and Ginny that they would be heading into Diagon Alley today as well to look in on the joke shop, and therefore would be escorting them there and back. Normally, the girls would have insisted that they were capable of taking care of themselves; however, it seemed they both knew that, with the state of things, Mrs. Weasley would never allow them to leave without someone of age accompanying them.

The group departed around noon by way of floo powder. Hermione had spent the rest of the morning compiling a list of presents she still needed to purchase and skimming through some of her Charms notes for a bit of a refresher. With N.E.W.T.’s coming up next year, she knew that the idea of holiday _break_ was not in the cards this year. She even convinced Ginny to quiz her on some terminology for a few minutes while she was polishing the handle of her broom. 

Diagon Alley was beautifully decorated for Christmas, with long strands of pine garland adorning every shop and bright fairy lights twinkling through the gloomy, snowy fog. Despite this, though, there was an air of anxiety and silence, which resembled the alley's tense atmosphere of this past summer. As soon as they arrived, Hermione and Ginny split off from the twins, heading straight for Quality Quidditch Supplies. It was more packed than expected inside, and the two skillfully maneuvered the aisles, each looking for a Christmas present for Harry. Hermione eventually settled on a rather nice collection of short stories from the winning teams of past World Cups, and proceeded to squeeze her way through a particularly crowded section of the shop with the intention of joining Ginny in the cue. She stopped in her tracks, however, as she came across a rather lovely scarf which changed colors depending on its owner’s quidditch team of preference.

Despite all her built up anger and resentment, she couldn’t help but think that it would look brilliant on Ron. After a few seconds of consideration, as well as some minor self loathing for considering purchasing him such a thoughtful gift when Hermione was _sure_ he wouldn’t be getting her anything this year, she snatched it up and headed to meet Ginny.

The day flew by, with it being the first time the pair had left the isolation of The Burrow since the start of holiday, and they spent the next few hours window shopping down the alley and picking up bits for Mrs. Weasley when needed. Hermione even treated Ginny to a pint of warm butterbeer, much to Tom's delight, before the pair had to check in with Fred and George at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes around four o’clock. Because the outside of Diagon Alley was rather grey and icy, stepping into the joke shop was quite a shock to the system. Incredible warmth seemed to spread through Hermione, as if she had just eaten a piece of chocolate after a dementor encounter. She had been inside once before, that summer when she had gone with Harry and the Weasleys to purchase school supplies, but it felt almost brighter now, with an enormous christmas tree smack in the middle of the entryway. As if from nowhere, the twins slid up to Ginny and Hermione and whisked them through the store, pointing out anything they hadn’t seen yet and showing them items which might serve as good Christmas presents.

“Oi, Hermione, maybe if you slipped Ron some of that love potion the two of you’d stop bickering!” George quipped. 

“I dunno, mate, it may be powerful stuff, but I don’t think it’s _that_ powerful.” Joked Fred, nudging her shoulder playfully. Hermione blushed profusely, carefully putting the bottle, which she’d picked up out of mere curiosity, back where she found it. Ginny rolled her eyes at the twins and began examining a package of thunder crackers.

By the time they got back to The Burrow, it was nearly dark. Mrs. Weasley was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen as expected, but the usual jovial conversation floating out from the sitting room was replaced by an exchange which sounded very serious; likely Order business, now that Remus, Bill, and Fleur had arrived. Hermione followed Ginny up the staircase to their room, where a second camp bed had been prepared for Fleur’s arrival. It was a miracle that another bed had fit inside the tiny room with the use of the door still in tact, and the girls had to clamber over multiple pieces of furniture to get to their things. Crookshanks was nowhere to be found, which meant he was off exploring and likely hunting down some dinner for himself. Ginny collapsed dramatically on her bed, releasing a large sigh. “It was terribly nice to get out today, but I could really do with a kip before dinner.”

Hermione glanced over at her. “I think I saw Harry in the sitting room with everyone. Maybe I should go and let him know we’re home…”

Ginny sat up, hesitated, and then quickly remarked, “I can do that if you’d like to have a bath? I want to tell him something I saw about anti-jinx brooms in Quality Quidditch Supplies today, anyway. I’ll just clean myself up after you’re done.”

 _My hopes exactly,_ thought Hermione triumphantly. She really was quite a good wingwoman when it came down to it. Ginny stripped off her winter garments and then bounded out the door and down the stairs.

___________________________

Hermione awoke around the same time as the night before, greeted by a thick layer of darkness and Ginny’s sporadic snoring. She glanced over to Fleur, whose blonde hair was splayed out delicately across her pillow, the absolute picture of beauty as she slept soundlessly. Hermione felt a slight pang of jealousy as she studied her perfect porcelain skin and peaceful disposition.

She had managed to get some decent sleep for a few hours, with the help of a hearty dinner prepared by Mrs. Weasley and the exhaustion the cold had filled her with. However, she was awake now, and it would be dreadfully hard to lull herself back to sleep now that her brain was rushing with thoughts. _Reading it is_ , she thought to herself, grabbing her wand out of her bag and carefully sliding around Fleur’s bed. It took some very measured movements to venture across Ginny’s without waking her, but she eventually made it to the door and quietly slipped out.

Just as she turned towards the landing, she collided with someone and immediately grabbed her wand out of her pocket, pointing it at the figure. Once her vision adjusted, however, she rolled her eyes and shoved the wand back into her dressing gown. It was, of course, only Harry, who seemed to be heading down to the sitting room for another night of deep thinking.

“I wouldn’t suppose you’d like to join me, then?” He muttered, gesturing to her presence in the hallway.

Hermione figured it was probably better for her to have some company, even if she was just planning on quietly perusing an old study on vampires she had seen the last time she skimmed the Weasley’s bookshelf. “Sure, let me just get my book…”

They settled onto their separate couches, just as they had the night before, however, the pair seemed in slightly better spirits now. Harry was visibly less tense, every once in a while smiling to himself about something in his thoughts, and Hermione was not crying or actively concentrating on pushing down a feeling of emptiness in her chest, which was, she decided, a step forward. After a half hour of combing through _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires,_ her train of thought was broken by Harry awkwardly clearing his throat and saying, “I spoke with Ron today.”

Hermione was slightly taken aback by this interruption. It wasn’t that she was necessarily surprised he and Ron had talked; she had quite expected it. It was the fact that he was now telling her this information as if she could do something with it. “Oh?” She responded simply, glancing back down to a tear in the corner of her page. 

“I think he feels a bit guilty, if I’m being honest.”

A pang of resentment radiated throughout her body. _If he didn’t want to feel guilty then he shouldn’t have said the things he said_. “Does he? Well he hasn’t told me…”

“Come off it, Hermione, of course he hasn’t told you. He’s too proud for that.”

She sniffed disapprovingly. “Well then I haven’t got a reason to forgive him then, have I?”

“’Suppose not.” Huffed Harry, slumping against the back of the couch.

After a moment, Hermione turned the conversation to calmer waters. “Did Ginny come down and talk to you today? After we got home?”

Harry suppressed a grin. “As a matter of fact she did. What, was that your doing?”

“Not entirely, all I did was mention that I should probably go and let you know we’d gotten home and she… jumped on the task.” She said, a giggle escaping her lips.

Harry tossed a pillow at her head but she swiftly caught it, feigning offense. “You know, you’re too clever for anyone’s good, Hermione.” 

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I’m only trying to push things along, since you can’t seem to muster up the courage to.”

He opened his mouth in an attempt to argue, but quickly shut it with the realization that he had no retort. “Maybe that’s fair.”

“You just have to _talk_ to her, Harry. From what I’ve seen, she’s not particularly happy in her relationship with Dean and is looking for a reason to end things.”

“She said that?” He said sitting up much taller, an urgency now vibrating through his whole body.

“Well… not in so many words, no.” At this, Harry fell slightly.

“Then in what words has she said it?”

“It’s really more of… a _feeling_ I have.”

Harry expelled a large puff of air and collapsed against the back of the sofa. “Blimey, Hermione, don’t preface things like they’re facts when they’re just conjectures like that!”

“I’m sorry! But it does seem like they’re a bit rocky at the moment. Every time I bring him up she gets very quiet and changes the subject. And, I mean, who’s she spending Christmas with? You, right?” At being presented with this logic, Harry seemed to perk up ever so slightly. “It’s too bad _Ronald_ doesn’t seem to be on the same page.” Hermione muttered, scoffing at the thought of Lavender and Ron inevitably getting cozy on the train back to Hogwarts; she could practically vomit just picturing it.

But, rather than Harry voicing his usual remark in agreement, he proceeded to purse his lips, avidly avoiding eye contact with her. “Harry…” No response. “Harry, what do you know that I don’t know?”

After a moment he responded, “Well, it’s really more of a _feeling_ I have…”

And at that, it was Hermione’s turn to throw the pillow.


	3. December 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no update! For whatever reason this fic got abandoned but we are BACK baby! I hope you guys like this chapter. It's a bit of a wild ride!
> 
> I also wanted to make a teeny disclaimer for anyone who may be confused: This fic is in third person but it is still written through Hermione's eyes. As an author I am able to see that both Ron and Hermione have their share of flaws, problems, and communication issues, but obviously the way Hermione views the events that have transpired so far is different than an outsider's :) 
> 
> ALSO, the plot/details of this fic come from a blend of the HBP book and movie. I took a lot of Hermione and Harry's friendship from the movies, because I really love Emma and Dan's dynamic!
> 
> Again, I really hope you guys enjoy this one. Leave your thoughts down below, I would love to hear what you've got to say!

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to be woken up by a beam of golden sunlight streaked across her face the next morning, rather than by Mrs. Weasley’s rousings. Squinting around the room, she saw that Fleur and Ginny’s beds were both deserted, Fleur’s looking annoyingly tidied in contrast with Ginny’s blankets, which were thrown haphazardly off the edge of her mattress. Hermione reckoned it must’ve been quite late, and quickly slipped into some day clothes to join the others downstairs.

The atmosphere of The Burrow was somehow lazy and chaotic all at once; with much last minute preparation for Christmas morning to still be done, Mrs. Weasley was constantly trying to send them all off on different obscure tasks around the house. By midday, though, the lot was growing rather lethargic. Ginny had abandoned her post of sweeping the first floor and retired leisurely to the sofa, legs draped across the cushions. Harry was perched to her left; it seemed that he was trying desperately to decide whether it was okay to touch her in any way with Ron sitting right across from them, leaning against the brick of the fireplace. This, amusingly, resulted in Harry looking quite awkward, his back stiff against the pillows.  
Ron and Hermione could now stand to be in the same room. Their massive row the day before seemed to have released a tad bit of the tension that had surrounded the two, and they had now resorted to quietly ignoring one another. It was clear that the others were finding the peace to be a huge relief, but Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach every time Ron entered a room, his eyes flickering across her face and then quickly settling elsewhere.

It was almost worse this way. At least there had been a sense of comfort in their bickering; it was how they had communicated since the beginning of their friendship and, although these fights had been very serious and much more explosive, she had at least known that Ron was still a part of her life. The drama of it all had, in an odd way, chained them together. If they carried on completely ignoring each other, what was to come of their friendship in the spring term? Would they dissolve into mere acquaintances? Unable to bear this thought, Hermione let possible solutions and scenarios consume her as she completed her chores. If only she knew why he had seemed to be so upset with her in the first place… yes, if she knew the source, this could be remedied. However, the thought of having to make the first step and possibly apologize for whatever it was, after everything that had happened with Lavender, sounded absolutely abhorrent.

When she could avoid the common space no more, Hermione put away the dishes she had been drying and slipped into the living room. Ginny was doing a rather good impression of Fleur for the boys, tossing her hair dramatically and batting her eyelashes so much that Hermione wondered if she was seeing spots. As she took a seat in an empty chair, Ginny ramped up her storytelling; a clear attempt to eliminate any opportunity for awkward silence.

“I swear, she gets a kick out of correcting every little--”

“Lay off her already!” Huffed Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes; Ron’s infatuation with Fleur was, at this point, very old news.

“Why?” Grinned George, his eyes twinkling with glee.

“Because… she hasn’t done anything to any of you.”

Ginny snorted loudly. “Just because you  _ fancy _ her, Ron--”

“I do NOT--”

“Now, now! Careful, Ronnie. You wouldn’t want Lavender Brown to hear that you’ve got eyes for another lady.” George remarked, feigning disapproval. At this, Hermione stiffened against her chair; she could feel Harry glance over at her, as if to make sure she wasn’t going to implode at the mere mention of Lavender’s name.

Ron turned a deep shade of pink. “How do you-- actually, it doesn’t matter because it’s none of your business.” He quipped, looking rather pleased with himself. Hermione concentrated very hard on the stitching on her socks, her stomach turning wildly.

“That’s all well and good, but, honestly, how’d you manage it?” Asked Fred, showing the same level of exaggerated intrigue as if Ron had just said he invented the cure for Dragon Pox.

“What d’you mean?”

“Sorry, should’ve been clearer: what exactly did you slip into her pumpkin juice to  _ convince  _ her-- Ow!” Exclaimed Fred, rubbing the spot on his forehead where Ron had swiftly hit him with one of Mrs. Weasley’s beaded pillows.

The twins continued to berate Ron about Lavender for what felt like hours. Hermione could feel Ginny now looking at her, and she tried her best to paint an expression of disinterest, or at the very least bland disgust, across her face, but could tell she was failing. Harry kept opening his mouth to change the subject, but became preoccupied before getting the chance, due to Ginny fully outstretching across the sofa and casually perching her ankles up on his right leg.

“How  _ serious  _ is it, if you know what I mean?” Asked Fred with a playful wink.

At this, Hermione stood up so violently that she nearly knocked the chair over backwards. The whole lot of them were looking at her now, specifically Ron who, with flushed cheeks and a blatant smirk, opened his mouth to give an answer that Hermione had absolutely no desire to hear. She turned abruptly on her heel and raced up the stairs and into Ginny’s bedroom, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Hermione did her best to make crying over Ron a rare occurrence; she hated how defenseless she felt when it came to him, and felt that controlling her own emotional response was the only way to cope. Squeezing into the middle of the room and sitting down gingerly on her camp bed, she choked back any outward display of emotions that dared bubble up to the surface. As she crossed her legs, her wand slipped out of her pocket and rolled across the floor, bumping into the pile of Christmas gifts she had yet to wrap. As Hermione bent to get it, she saw Ron’s present sitting atop the stack.

In a fit of anger and frustration, she snatched the scarf up and threw it as hard as she could across the room. The tears that had been piling up spilled over almost instantly. Burying her head in her hands, Hermione sank against the wall, the lump in her throat growing ever larger, hot tears rolling quietly down her cheeks. She held her breath, trying, with much difficulty, not to draw anyone towards the bedroom.  _ Second time in two days,  _ she thought with miserable frustration.  _ It shouldn’t be this hard _ .

Suddenly, the bedroom door was being swiftly thrown open. Hermione hurriedly wiped the tears off of her face, opening her mouth to provide some sort of comedic retort to draw attention away from her bloodshot eyes, but it was no use. A very shocked Ginny now stood in the entryway, staring directly at her. It was clear that she had opened the door expecting to see Hermione occupying herself with some mundane activity, assuming the two would joke and roll their eyes about the boys’ idiotic conversation from moments before. Instead, she was faced with a very blotchy and red version of Hermione, who was curled up in the corner of her bedroom.

“I don’t…” Ginny seemed to be at a loss for words, completely frozen in the doorway. The two girls had never been so vulnerable in front of one another, and Hermione, who was now finding it a bit difficult to catch her breath, gestured slightly to the door. This seemed to snap Ginny out of her trance, and she closed it quickly, moving to her own bed and sitting gently on the edge. A long silence passed before she finally said, “Is this… about  _ Ron? _ ”

Hermione had never wanted to sink into the ground and disappear so desperately. She had really only told Harry about her problem out of circumstance, and had been planning on keeping her feelings hidden from Ginny for… well… the rest of her life.

Ginny seemed to take her lack of response as a yes. “God, he’s an absolute _ prat _ .” She said bitingly, a harsh scowl plastered across her face. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ginny stewing in her anger and Hermione in her heartache. As she finally began to explain herself, a knock at the door loudly interrupted her. “I’m sure it’s just Harry.” Hermione said, glancing at Ginny with a weak smile. She made her way to the door, planning to simply tell him that she was okay, and that perhaps she would talk with him later if for some reason he was still interested in hearing about her outburst, but was sure that he would not take her up on it. Harry, like most teenage boys, was quite awkward in emotionally intimate conversations and tended to approach the Ron issue very carefully, for fear that Hermione might start crying at any moment. 

After stumbling over Fleur’s bed, she grasped the handle and flung it open. “I’m--”

Ron turned his head away from the staircase and towards the sound of the door opening, clearly expecting to see Ginny. The realization that it was Hermione, followed by the realization that she had been crying, caused his face to contort into an expression of confusion and something else that she couldn’t quite place. As her cheeks flushed even more red, Ron seemed at a loss for snide remarks for the first time in months. “I, uh…”

“Yes?” She asked, her voice nervously spiking up in pitch.

“Are… are you alright?” He seemed utterly confused.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s just… it seems--”

“Did you have a point in coming up here?” Hermione retorted quickly, closing her eyes to keep from losing it. She had no desire to embarrass herself further by explaining to Ron why his comments about Lavender had made her storm off.

Rather than immediately snapping back at her, Ron studied her face carefully, looking rather perplexed. He wore the expression of someone trying to decipher complex ancient runes while having never studied the subject. After a moment of silence, he responded, “We need more people for our Quidditch match in the yard…”

“I assume you’re looking for Ginny, then.” Hermione said, turning to look at Ginny, whom she was sure had been hanging onto every word of the conversation, itching for a moment to pummel Ron to the floor.

“We actually need two for our scrummage,” He said awkwardly. “But, I’m assuming you don’t want--”

“We would both  _ love  _ to.” Ginny said, popping her head around the door. 

Ron looked from Hermione to Ginny incredulously. “You would?” Silence. “Both of you?” Before Hermione could come to her senses and refuse, Ginny accepted the offer a second time, telling him to get lost before they changed their minds. As Ron walked upstairs to the attic to fetch his pads, he glanced back at Hermione over his shoulder, a look of absolute bewilderment in his eyes.

The Quidditch match put Hermione in much better spirits. Despite the game being essentially a one on one between Harry and Ginny, she was quite proud to finally be getting a better hang of flying. Hermione also couldn’t help but notice that Ron looked incredibly distracted; he was glancing over at her much more than normal, as if waiting for her to snap.

The Burrow felt as festive as ever by the time the group headed inside for dinner. The smell of baked goods wafted from the kitchen, and the house was so full that conversation bounced actively from every nook and cranny. Hermione could tell that Harry was anxiously awaiting a chance to tell Mr. Weasley and Lupin about the conversation he had overheard between Malfoy and Snape; he had only just explained it all to her days before, exasperated, as always, when she challenged him with a reasonable counter-argument. It seemed that Harry felt he would receive a different response from Lupin, given his close friendship with Sirius, who had never trusted Snape a day in his life. Hermione, however, knew better than to think that Harry was right, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to let him discuss it with them.

The dinner was, of course, delicious, but conversation was a bit bleak. With so much happening at the Ministry, the darker aspects of life dominated discussion; every so often, Mr. Weasley would attempt to censor certain information, glancing carefully around the table at those who were underage. A pang of indignation reverberated inside Hermione’s chest. Weren’t they the ones who had faced Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries less than a year before? It seemed very unreasonable to keep important information hidden from them simply because they weren’t yet seventeen. It was clear the rest of the lot felt the same way, Ginny huffing in annoyance every time her father refused to state, in any certain terms, what came at the end of his sentences.

Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and Harry ended up being excused from the table earlier than usual, on the pretense that they needed to go and finish wrapping their Christmas gifts; it seemed much more likely, though, that the adults had simply grown tired of speaking in code. When they broke off from the table, Hermione could hear Ron muttering something to Harry as she slipped past them; his eyes were bored into the back of her head as she and Ginny bounded up the staircase.

___________________________

Unsurprisingly, Hermione found herself wide awake in the darkness of Ginny’s room. This cycle was beginning to grow incredibly tiresome, both physically and mentally. What she wouldn’t give to be able to whip up a quick sleeping draught just  _ once _ so she could sleep through the night…

This time was different, though. Not only was Hermione awake so incredibly late, but she had not managed to fall asleep at all in the first place, finding it very hard to stop replaying and overthinking the events of the day. Ginny now had some idea about Hermione’s feelings for Ron, but it was unclear to what extent she was aware. Would she want to grill Hermione about it the next time they had a moment alone together? How would she react if Hermione confessed to her just how long ago this had started?

Not only that, but some switch seemed to have flipped inside of Ron. He was acting less smug and, rather, more confused, than ever. This was what had plagued Hermione’s thoughts for the majority of the night; she went over the words they had exchanged tirelessly, always coming back to the image of perplexity that had spread across his face as he came to the realization that she had been crying. It was an odd thing to throw him into uncertainty, really, considering he had not seemed to care about how she had been affected any of the times he talked about, or even snogged, Lavender directly in front of her in the past. Hermione had had to get very good at fiercely ignoring him, always finding some excuse to distance herself from the situation as much as possible.

Ron’s secretive muttering to Harry had also been churning around in her mind since it had happened at the foot of the stairs. What had he been saying? Did it have to do with her or was she merely projecting? Would Harry even tell her if she asked, or was he too loyal to Ron to reveal something that had likely been told to him in confidence?

As she stretched out to roll over onto her other side, she heard a soft creak and shuffling on the landing outside the door. Frozen, Hermione held her breath and listened carefully. The person was most definitely coming from the attic, and was now making their way downstairs. She exhaled, relieved, and laid in wait a few seconds more. It would be good to talk with Harry tonight; she had loads to ask him about and, even if he gave her vague, non-committal answers, it was better than sitting alone with her thoughts going a million miles a minute. 

By this point, her routine had been set in stone. Hermione grabbed her wand, stuffed it into her dressing gown, and tactfully climbed across Ginny’s bed frame, hoping that she really was as heavy of a sleeper as history had shown them thus far. Once she was safely out the door, Hermione skipped perusing the bookshelves and proceeded downstairs, taking each plank as gingerly as possible.

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, she realized that something was missing. After a minute of examining her surroundings, it became clear that Harry had not yet set a fire. It was painfully quiet without the crackling of the logs and quite nearly pitch black with no light from the flames. As her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, she strained her ears for any sort of noise that could serve as reassurance. Hermione eventually decided that she was being ridiculous. After all, it was only Harry; they had been through this cycle for the past two nights. Still, something inside of her felt that, in walking into the living room, she would be intruding upon something very private. Taking a deep breath, Hermione took the last two steps down and turned the corner.

The flash of red hair hit her line of sight almost instantly, leaving no time to process what she was faced with and making a swift escape of any kind impossible. Hermione stood, frozen, her gaze locked with the pair of blue eyes that she had glared straight into countless times. Ron stared back at her, the color drained from his cheeks, his breath catching tightly in his chest. They stood staring at one another for what felt like years.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but words failed her. Instead, the mere sound of her voice cracking broke the silence, which only caused her more embarrassment, her face growing more flushed by the second. She hastily turned around to leave, hoping she could simply forget that the horrible interaction ever took place but, as she took her first step out of the room, Ron broke through the quiet.

“Hermione.”

She stood, motionless, not daring to turn around and face him again.

“Will you… I just-- I haven’t got a clue what to say.” His voice sounded strangled, as if he had buried these words months ago and was just now pulling them up to the surface. Hermione stayed quiet; she felt that there was no good response to supply. It was tiring, constantly having to give Ron the answers to everything. If they were going to talk, she wanted a real conversation, not one where she spoon fed him apologies that he would later regurgitate. The silence of the first floor was deafening.

“I’m… I’m tired of this,” Ron said matter of factly. 

At this, Hermione turned, arms crossed. “Well, it’s not been a cakewalk for me.” She whispered.

“What were you crying about earlier?” He said abruptly. It was almost accusatory, as if he had been cheated out of his right to be made aware. 

“I really don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“Does Harry know?” He asked after a few seconds, eyes piercing into her.

Her lack of response seemed telling enough for Ron, and he scowled, looking down at his socks. “Of course.”

“Well, it’s not as if you’ve been showing much of an interest in how I feel, Ronald.” She snapped, struggling to keep her voice low. The last thing she needed was for someone to catch them alone downstairs in the middle of the night. 

“Clearly you don’t need me to, when you can just tell Harry all about it.”

“ _ What _ is your problem?”

“ _ Nothing. _ ” He growled, collapsing onto the sofa. 

Hermione shot him a look of utter disbelief and disgust, pivoting back around and heading for the stairs. She stepped up onto the first plank of wood, but suddenly thought better of it; before she knew what she was doing, she had stormed right back into the sitting room.

“You’d really like to know how I feel?” She hissed. Ron seemed extremely caught off guard by this outburst. She stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” He started, uncertainly. “Yeah, actually, you know what, I  _ would! _ Because nothing you’ve done has made _ any bloody sense to me!” _

“Alright,” Hermione said, her hands making fists at her sides as a means to control her frustration. “Let’s begin with the fact that  _ you _ started this and I don’t even know why. I have  _ agonized _ over every detail of the last two months, and cannot manage to understand what I possibly could have done to make you behave like such a massive  _ child _ .”

Ron’s response to this was a combination of hesitation and incoherent sputtering. “I-- well, I could ask you the same question!” He countered.

“Oh,  _ could _ you, Ronald?” She said, dismissing this ridiculous statement with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, I could!” He whispered angrily, coming to his feet and moving towards her. “Why do you avoid me at every turn? Why are you so bothered by everything I do?” She stared at him, shocked. “It’s infuriating.” He added for good measure.

The two stared each other down for quite a long time, arguing wordlessly through harsh looks. Eventually, Hermione pulled her glare away and said, “I expect your girlfriend’s written you loads while you’ve been away.” At the mention of Lavender, Ron slumped back onto the sofa looking exhausted.

“Yeah. _ Loads. _ ”

An awkward silence passed between them, and Hermione decided that, as it seemed they were getting nowhere, she had better take a seat. As she situated herself carefully in the chair, she could feel Ron’s eyes on her. It was the longest conversation they’d had in weeks, and yet she found absolutely no comfort in it. Hermione glanced out the window, studying the trees swaying in the wind, and noticed that it was beginning to snow.

There were at least five minutes of a still quiet before Ron spoke up. “Why did you invite McLaggen to that party.” He muttered. It sounded more like a statement than a question. She noticed that Ron was adamantly refusing to look anywhere but at the floor. 

Hermione knew exactly why she had invited Cormac to Slughorn’s Christmas party; to hurt Ron the way he had hurt her. She answered with the safest response possible. “Well I couldn’t very well take you, considering…”

“Yes you could’ve.” His voice was very quiet now, with the air of a child muttering contradiction to a rule his parents had set in place. Great silence followed this response.

“Why did you snog Lavender after the Quidditch match?” Asked Hermione, her voice very small.

“Because she was there,” He said, snorting slightly under his breath. Very suddenly, though, he seemed to remember who he was talking to and furthered his answer. “Why shouldn’t I have?” A pang of uncertainty hit his voice as he finished the question. “No one else was showing any interest in me, why not her?”

“I think  _ plenty  _ of people were interested in you, Ronald.”

“Are you mad? Plenty of people?! Plenty of people like  _ who?” _

“Plenty of people!” Snapped Hermione. 

He stared at her, a look of absolute incredulity on his face. “Well, if they were, they never told me.”

Fiery indignation was now boiling inside of Hermione’s chest. She felt that she had been quite vulnerable with him; inviting him to Slughorn’s party had very clearly been an invitation for a date. It was  _ Ron _ who then used Lavender in an obvious effort to make her jealous, disregarding how she felt completely. At this thought, an audible scoff escaped her lips.

“What?” Ron asked, clearly agitated.

“Nothing.”

“No really, what is so ridiculous about what I’ve just said?” He said, crossing his arms.

Hermione glared at him, refusing to answer what she deemed to be such an unnecessary question. 

“Well, this is just great. What a fantastic Christmas Eve!” He stated sarcastically, throwing his arms in the air and standing to leave.

Hermione’s mind began to race. There was nothing she loathed more than the idea of having to state, in certain terms, that she had feelings for Ron, knowing that she would just be facing rejection and pain in doing so; the prospect made her stomach lurch. But, as she watched him walk away, the thought of being left alone to stew in her own sorrow, having resolved nothing, sounded worse. Her heart deep in the pit of her stomach, she did her best to choke back her emotions and shakily whispered, “Ron.”

It was now his turn to stop in his tracks. She stared at his back, willing him to turn around until she couldn’t take it anymore and murmured softly, “Ron,  _ please. _ ”

“I can’t fight anymore, Hermione,” He whispered, still refusing to face her. “I’m exhausted.”

“Ron--”

“Do you have feelings for me?” He said suddenly, pivoting around to look her in the eye. “Because I have  _ no bloody idea _ what’s going on in your head. One second you’re criticizing everything I do and the next you’re angry with me for snogging someone else. You don’t own me, Hermione. You’ve never even…” Ron’s voice cracked. It was clear that this speech had been bottled up inside of him for so long and wasn’t coming across the way he had once hoped it would. Burying his head in his hands, he began anxiously pacing the room. Hermione was at an absolute loss for words. “And then you go and snog Krum--”

Hermione blinked back hot angry tears. “Ron, that-- that was ages ago!”

“--and ask McLaggen to the party instead--”

“You would  _ never  _ have gone with me after--”

“ _ You don't know! _ ” He hissed, hitting his fists against the brick of the fireplace. Resting his head against the mantle, he pushed onwards. “You just  _ assumed,  _ because you think you know best, so you don’t take into account what I might have to say.”

“Ron,  _ honestly,  _ would you have still gone with me?” His silence was all the answer she needed. She watched as he quietly stood frozen, head hanging between his arms, fists pressed up against the bricks. 

“I have to know, Hermione,” He whispered. “It’s eating me up inside.”

“I-- I don’t--”

“Yes _ ,  _ you  _ do,” _ He pleaded, now facing where she sat and stepping closer. “I just need you to tell me because I can’t go on like this. Not knowing.”

They had been through quite a lot in the past five years, but nothing had pained Hermione so much as this moment, watching Ron choke back tears of frustration as he studied every movement she made with intense earnestness. Hermione knew her answer. The words she never anticipated would have to be said at loud were now on the tip of her tongue, yet she was still somehow unable to form a coherent sentence. A sort of sobbing choking noise came out instead, and the anticipation faded from Ron’s eyes; he now looked quite empty, like a candle that had been snuffed out. It was clear he had taken this noise as her answer; and it was not the answer he had been hoping for.

He took a step backwards limply, as if in a trance, before a muffled noise escaped him and he turned towards the stairs.

Hermione’s mind was racing at full speed. Her whole body felt like it was full of lead, completely incapable of movement; the feeling of numbness throughout her had never been so strong. But, as Ron grasped the handrail of the steps, something inside of her jolted to life. 

She sprang abruptly from her chair, knocking it backwards. Ron turned his head, locking eyes with her. “Wha--”

Hermione had never moved with such intent. When she finally reached Ron, she looked up at him, mustering up all the courage she could manage, and nodded her head.

“Hermione--”

“Yes.”

“I don’t--”

“My answer is yes.” 

And, as he opened his mouth to speak, Hermione grabbed his face and kissed him as hard as she could. Time seemed to stop; all of the pent up frustration and anger and pain she had because of her feelings towards Ron left her body. 

All she could feel was magic, in its purest form.

Ron pulled away from Hermione, in complete and utter shock, looking her straight in the eyes. “You do?”

_ “Yes!” _

“...You’re sure?” He questioned, a smile slowly spreading across his face. 

_ “Ronald!” _ She said, smacking him on the arm, a slight giggle escaping her lips.

He pulled Hermione closer, adrenaline rushing, and kissed her again. When the two broke apart, they were both grinning.

“Took you long enough.” 

Hermione, startled, looked up past Ron, only to see none other than Harry standing on the landing, smirking down at them. Ron turned around, eyes wide.

“ _ Blimey, _ mate, how long have you been standing there?!”

“Only a second. You’re being quite loud, you know. Better keep it down… don’t want your mum to come out and see you two snogging in the dark.”

Hermione had never seen Ron’s face so pink.


	4. December 25th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO FRIENDS! Here is the last chapter of Afterglow🥺I have loved writing this so much (it's my first ever Harry Potter fic!) and cannot WAIT to start working on more HP stuff for ao3. I have TONS of plans and ideas for more so please consider sticking around :) Comment down below any of your thoughts!

Hermione was in better spirits waking up on Christmas morning than she had been any day in the past two months. Despite the fact that she and Ron had little to no time to talk after Harry disappeared back up to the attic (they had heard shuffling coming from Ron’s parents’ room and rushed off to bed to avoid getting caught downstairs), she was comforted by the knowledge that the longest row in the history of their friendship was finally good and over.

And kissing him hadn’t hurt, either.

Hermione had woken to the sounds of Ginny shredding the paper off of a rather lumpy package, which the girls discovered to be the traditional wool Weasley Christmas sweater. She was also thrilled to find a beautifully wrapped gift from her parents sitting atop the pile at the end of her camp bed, along with parcels from Harry, Ginny, Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley. As Hermione carefully took hold of the one from Fred and George, acutely aware of the possibility that anything from the twins might attack her or explode if she wasn’t careful, she spotted another small package underneath.

_To: Hermione_

_From: Ron_

_I thought this might be useful… Maybe you could even enchant it to carry your books around with you :) Happy Christmas_

Hermione’s heart swelled in her chest. 

“Oi,” Said Ginny from her bed. “Who gave you that one?” She gestured to the gift in Hermione’s hands. 

“Oh, ummm… Ron actually.” 

Ginny looked stunned. “Ron got you a present?”

She shrugged. “I suppose so. Maybe he bought it before…”

“Did you get him anything?”

“Well… yeah, when we were in Diagon Alley a few days--”

“Merlin,” said Ginny, shaking her head in disbelief. “If I was in a row with someone as bad as you and Ron they’d be getting maggots from me.” Hermione had to purse her lips to keep from smiling.

It wasn’t that she wanted to keep Ginny in the dark, quite the contrary. It just didn’t seem fair to involve anyone else until she and Ron had discussed what was to come of everything that had transpired a few hours ago. Well, anyone else besides Harry, who had likely seen and heard much more from the landing than Hermione would, admittedly, have cared for. It was a bit of a relief, though, not having to explain everything to him after the fact, and she was sure that any gaps in the story had now been filled in by Ron, who had left her at the base of the attic looking positively wired with energy.

Hermione unwrapped the parcel and gasped when she saw what was inside. It was a small, purple bag, embellished with a variety of orange and turquoise beads and equipped with a silver drawstring closure. It was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but wonder how on earth Ron had the taste to buy her something so nice.

“Holy hell, he picked that out?” exclaimed Ginny, who seemed to have read Hermione’s mind. She clambered across her mattress to get a closer look at the bag, nearly tripping over a bundle of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products in the process. After a second of examining the gift, Ginny adopted an impressed expression. “Well done, Ron,” as she bent down to open her box of Fizzing Whizbees, she added, “It suits you.”

“I think I’ll add some sort of extension charm to it. He wrote that he meant for me to carry books around in it…” 

“A present that requires extra work from the recipient… sounds like Ron.” she said, sucking on the sherbet ball, causing her to float about an inch above her bed. 

“It’s perfect,” said Hermione, examining the inside of the purse. “I’ve been looking for a way to practice that type of magic.”

Ginny shrugged. “If you say so.”

The Burrow buzzed to life as its inhabitants began to stir from their sleep. Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley yelp in surprise from the kitchen, signaling that the twins had just apparated into the kitchen without warning. She climbed over Fleur’s empty camp bed (who had not slept late, as Hermione and Ginny had) and, filled to the brim with an excited nervousness, darted up to the attic room. 

Ron nearly jumped out of his bed as she flung the door open and yelled “Happy Christmas!”

“ _Blimey,_ Hermione, you’re as bad as Fred and George!” he exclaimed. 

Harry, who had just nearly lowered his wand in relief, collapsed back onto his camp bed. “You’re awfully happy this morning.” he said, smirking up at her. Ron promptly chucked a pillow at his head, but Harry dodged it expertly.

“It’s Christmas!” she said defensively, her cheeks growing warm. 

“Yeah, mate, it’s Christmas!” Ron said, gesturing wildly.

Harry looked from one to the other, perhaps deciding if he should just come out and say what all three were thinking. After a few moments of awkward silence, he seemed to decide against it, and tossed Hermione a grimy looking package. “Kreacher sent it to me.”

“Well then don’t you want to open it yourself?” Hermione asked, reprovingly.

“Already did. Maggots.”

Hermione immediately dropped the parcel onto the floor, her face screwed up in involuntary disgust. “Well… maybe he thought you’d like to go fishing--”

“I can’t believe you still defend him, Hermione. He’s a slimy old git.” said Ron, examining a chocolate frog card.

“That’s not fair, Ron, he was raised to have a certain view--”

“A certain _racist_ view, if you ask me--”

“My _point_ is, it’s not his fault--”

“And here I was, thinking things would be different.” said Harry, looking at them with bewildered amusement. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and plopped down at the foot of Ron’s bed. “I’m only saying that he might not have meant anything by it.”

“ _That’s_ likely.” Harry said sarcastically.

The conversation lulled for a few minutes as Hermione flipped through a book on dragons, which Ron had been gifted from his brother Charlie, and Harry quietly reorganized his case. “Oh, wow! Look at this…” she said eagerly, pointing to a vividly colorful illustration of a Chinese Fireball. As she leaned back to show Ron, he met her in the middle, sitting up to entertain her excitement. Hermione chattered on about the dragon’s fringe of golden spikes and Ron feigned interest; she could feel him studying her face intently and, when she turned her head to face him, he awkwardly dropped his gaze to the maroon sweater laying at his feet, causing her stomach to flip upside down and her cheeks to flush.

Christmas lunch was exquisite; Hermione had never seen such an array of food outside of Hogwarts, and it seemed that the others felt the same way. Ron, having already had two servings of turkey, grabbed for the last bit on the platter but was met with great resistance from George, who promptly jinxed him before he could put it down on his plate. Mrs. Weasley, who was in quite good spirits with Fred and George after opening their gift (a bedazzled, midnight-blue witch’s hat and a beautiful gold necklace) ignored this incident, causing Ron to sputter in defiance.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to Tonks. Mrs. Weasley seemed quite practiced in shooting passive aggressive glances at Lupin and asking if he had any contact with her, as if it was his fault that she had denied her invitation to come to The Burrow for Christmas. Although it was subtle, Hermione thought she could sense hesitation as he remarked that she was likely spending the holidays with her own family.

“Tonk’s Patronus has changed its form,” Harry remarked suddenly, scooping a bit of stuffing onto his fork. “Snape said so, anyway. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?”

Before she could stop herself, Hermione answered, “Well, generally it’s caused by emotional distress or upheaval. I expect it has something to do with…” she trailed off awkwardly, unwilling to finish the sentence with what everyone was likely thinking; Sirius’ death in the Department of Mysteries.

Lupin finished swallowing his turkey before glancing over at Hermione and saying, “Indeed. And, as things are quite stressful--”

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley interrupted, coming suddenly to her feet, her eyes fixed on something outside of the window. “Arthur-- it’s Percy!”

Silence washed over the kitchen; it was clear that no one could fully process what had just been said. Hermione’s eyes darted to Ron, whose face was a mixture of shock and anger. Ginny was now standing as well, leaning over the table for a better view. 

“ _What?_ ” asked Mr. Weasley incredulously.

“Arthur, he’s-- he’s with the Minister!”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to spring to her feet. Sure enough, Rufus Scrimgeour was coming towards the house, just a few paces behind Percy. A knot began to form in Hermione’s stomach, her heart racing. Had Percy been on his own, things might have looked brighter, but nothing good could come of his sudden return with the Minister right at his heels. If Percy planned to make a real apology to his family, it seemed unlikely that it would include his boss. Her eyes flew across the table to Harry, who looked rather agitated at the unexpected turn of events, and Hermione knew that they were thinking the same thing; Scrimgeour had come to see Harry.

Ron remained rooted in his chair, fists clenched at his sides. Against her better judgement, Hermione reached out to her right and grasped onto his shoulder, keeping her eyes fixed forward. It seemed to have the desired effect, however, and she could feel bits of tension drain from his body as she gripped him tighter.

The back door opened and there stood Percy, stiff and statuesque in the doorway. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley merely stared back at him.

“Merry Christmas, Mother.”

Mrs. Weasley took this as her cue and threw herself into his arms, bursting into tears. “Oh, _Percy!”_

The Minister took in the scene, looking very out of place in the brightly colored house with his dark cloak and long greying hair. As he apologized for the intrusion, Hermione sized Scrimgeour up as best she could. There was a small smile plastered across his face, clearly out of no more sentiment than mere politeness. He did, however, look as though he felt far more at home in this environment than Percy, who had the air of someone being threatened with a wand stuck in his back.

Ginny sat back down next to Harry, looking incredibly apprehensive about the surprise drop in. Hermione followed suit and, as she did, stole a glance at Ron. He was staring intently at his Yorkshire pudding, as if even glancing slightly upwards would cause him to lose his temper completely. Hermione figured he had been hoping to pummel Percy to the floor if or when he ever dared to come back, and was feeling incredibly resentful that the Minister had ruined this plan.

Mrs. Weasley inviting the Minister to join them for lunch brought Hermione back to the issue at hand. She so desperately wanted to excuse herself, Ron, and Harry from the table before anything went further with this thinly veiled attempt for the Minister to meet with Harry, but, before she could open her mouth, Scrimgeour beat her to the punch.

“No, no, my dear Molly. I don’t want to intrude, wouldn’t be here at all if Percy hadn’t wanted to see you all so badly…”

Hermione had to purse her lips to keep from scoffing.

“...We’ve only looked in for five minutes, so I’ll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy,” Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to object. “No, no, I assure you I don’t want to butt in!” he said, as if reading her mind. “Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden… ah, that young man’s finished, why doesn’t he take a stroll with me?”

Not at all surprised, Hermione turned her head to see that Scrimgeour was gesturing directly to Harry. Anyone who had not yet caught on to the true nature of this visit seemed to clue into the Minister’s weak attempt the moment that he went so far as to act like he had never seen Harry before; even Mrs. Weasley’s breath seemed to catch in her chest. Seconds of silence felt like years as the lot glanced between Harry and Scrimgeour, trying to make sense of the events that were unfolding.

“Yeah, all right.” said Harry, finally. Hermione whipped her head around, looking at him with a very severe expression on her face; Ron was staring at him as if he had just said he was going to single-handedly wrestle a Basilisk.

As Harry stood to accompany Scrimgeour, Hermione and Ron also shot out of their seats. He came around the table and walked past them towards the door. Hermione made to follow him, Ron at her heels, but Harry turned to face the two. “It’s fine,” he muttered under his breath. 

At this, Hermione tensed. Harry must have noticed, because he shot her an exceedingly pointed glance before turning back around.

Lupin was now halfway out of his seat, Mr. Weasley opening his mouth to speak. “Fine.” Harry added, looking towards the two of them.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Scrimgeour, who clearly felt as though he had won this round. Hermione’s thoughts were ablaze with excuses and interjections, but soon grew distracted, as Ron’s hand closed softly around her arm. They stared as the Minister ushered Harry into the yard. “We’ll just take a turn around the garden and then Percy and I’ll be off. Carry on, everyone!”

But everyone did not simply ‘carry on’. As soon as the door shut behind them, Hermione flew towards the stairs. Lupin and Mr. Weasley began speaking rapidly in hushed conversation, moving towards the windows in the sitting room, and even Mrs. Weasley looked uneasy. Hermione could feel Ron behind her on the staircase, and likely Ginny, too, before Mrs. Weasley insisted that she come say hello to Percy. Taking the steps two at a time, Hermione was onto the landing and into the reading nook before Ron could even make it past the master bedroom on the second floor.

“Bloody hell, Hermione--” he exclaimed when he finally reached her, completely out of breath.

“Shhhh!” she hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him down to crouch next to her in the open doorway of the balcony. “I’m trying to hear what they’re saying…”

But all Hermione could make out were words estranged from their sentences. At one point, she swore she heard Scrimgeour mention Dumbledore, but was unable to determine the context of the remark.

“He’s the world’s biggest git for showing up here today, knowing how mum would be.” Ron said, breaking the silence and glancing towards the stairs.

“I really don’t think it was his idea, Ron.” still straining her ears to pick up any bit of information she could.

“Doesn’t matter, he’s here isn’t he?”

Hermione was not quite sure how to respond. She did agree with Ron, after all, but had gotten so used to contradicting everything that came out of his mouth that this new dynamic was catching her off guard.

“I always thought that… if he came back I’d get in his face, you know? Tell him off for how he treated mum and dad. And Harry, after that stupid letter he wrote me last year.”

Hermione pulled her focus away from the cracked door, giving up, and slumped back against the wall to join Ron. “I nearly forgot about that.”

“Lucky you.” he mumbled.

They sat quietly for awhile, listening to the voices in the sitting room float upstairs. Fred and George seemed to be making the most of the situation at hand by continuously offering Percy a variety of candies, which Hermione had no doubt were taken from their Skiving Snackboxes.

Suddenly and wordlessly, Ron brushed his hand up next to Hermione's, causing her heart to feel as though it had stopped dead in her chest. “Ron…” she whispered.

“Yeah?” he asked, turning his head to face her.

“I don’t know…”

“Me neither,” he said quickly.

Neither wanted to say what they knew to be true; a relationship would do more bad than good, putting a target on their heads’ as Voldemort progressed with his plans. It was already dangerous enough for them to stand so firmly at Harry’s side without giving the Death Eaters another reason to take one of them hostage.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

Ron looked down at his hands, disheartened. “Maybe if we--”

“With everything going on, though--” 

“But if we just kept--”

“Ronald--”

“Hermione, will you just be quiet for one minute?!” exclaimed Ron, clearly agitated. She reluctantly fell silent.

“I think that if we, you know, keep things… quiet… that it won’t be an issue.”

Hermione said nothing for a while, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. She figured he may have a point; if they were careful enough, they could eliminate the excess threat that a romantic relationship would bring. But what if there was a slip up? And were they supposed to tell Harry, or simply keep it between the two of them? It seemed best to have things on a need to know basis, but how would they decide the criteria? They were only five minutes into the mere idea of a secret relationship and her head was already swimming with holes in their plan.

“I think maybe we should just call it,” Hermione heard herself say. “For the good of the group.”

At this, Ron turned to face her completely. “ _What?_ ”

“Ron--”

“No, I really want to make sure I’m hearing this right,” he says, his face flushed with anger. “After everything last night, hell, after this term, and with everything that’s ahead of us, you want to _give up?_ ”

“Don’t you understand that everything ahead of us is _why_ , Ron? Don’t you see that when things get worse they’re going to get _loads_ worse? I don’t know what exactly Dumbledore is going to ask of Harry, but I’m _sure_ there is more than he’s let on and I doubt it includes going into hiding and staying out of harm’s way.”

“I-- I honestly can’t believe this.” whispered Ron, who was now on his feet and pacing to release some of his anxious energy.

“Ron…”

“I thought things were going to be better after last night, Hermione.”

“I want them to, I--”

“Do you want to be with me?”

“Y-yes--”

“Then that’s all that it is, Hermione!” he rushed to her, kneeling next to her at her eye level.

“It’s… it’s not so simple.”

“It can be, please, it can be--”

“Ron, aren’t you worried?” she asked abruptly.

“Of course, you know I’m worried about the war--”

“Not about the war, about this,” she whispered, gesturing between the two of them. “Ron… I honestly think we would kill each other.”

“Don’t be dramatic--”

“I’m not being dramatic, but while we’re at it, this is a perfect example.”

“What, of you being dramatic?”

“ _No,_ of us bickering like children!”

“We don’t--”

“We’re doing it _right now_ , Ronald!”

He pursed his lips, falling silent at the realization that Hermione was, as usual, right. “I hadn’t really thought about it before.”

“Well, I have.”

After a few seconds, Ron said, “There’s a hole in your logic.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I said, there’s a hole in your logic.”

Stunned at his bluntness, Hermione remarked, “By all means, enlighten me, then.”

“Well, we’ve stayed friends this long, haven’t we?”

“Friends is very different than…”

“I don’t see the harm in trying, is all,” Silence hung in the air like a heavy blanket. “Do you really want to spend any time we have left wondering what _might_ happen? If you’re right-- which I’ve learned you usually are, by the way,” Hermione blushed profusely. “--and this war is going to be as destructive for us and Harry as you say, then don’t you want to at least _try?_ ”

Tears began rolling slowly down Hermione’s cheeks. This whole conversation felt so selfish, so reckless; to consider putting themselves at more of a risk for the sake of preventing possible personal regret, to essentially throw any logic and reason to the wind.

And yet, Hermione had never wanted to abandon reason more.

“Please say something,” murmured Ron, his thumb brushing across her cheek to wipe away a fallen tear. 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered up to meet his, and they stared at each other, each unsure of what to say. She couldn’t help but notice that Ron’s eyes had little flecks of green in them, making them appear even brighter up close. He was looking at her so earnestly and with such intent; her heart pounded in her chest, brain screaming reminders of risk and cost and broken friendships, but, before she knew it, his lips were on hers again. Every worry and qualm that was consuming her melted away as the feeling of fireworks exploded inside of her. 

Ron’s hands cupped her cheeks and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer into her. By the time they broke away from each other, they were breathless, foreheads resting gently against one another and basking in the moment of the first kiss they had ever shared alone.

“We have to be so careful, Ron.” Hermione breathed out softly.

“We will.”

“I mean it,” She said, opening her eyes to study his face. “We shouldn’t even tell your family. Not to mention, you still haven’t even talked with Lavender…”

“I was sort of hoping… if I ignored her… it might, well, fizzle out--”

“Ron, that’s _awful_.”

“Oi! It’s not as if you cared about her before!”

“I may not like her, Ronald, but you can’t ignore the situation and you _certainly_ can’t go on with me like this behind closed doors until you’ve ended things.”

Ron looked rather dumbstruck. “Well, I suppose I can talk with her before classes start up again.”

“In person?”

“Blimey, Hermione, I’m not going to dump her by owl, that’s just cruel!”

“Oh, and ignoring her when we go back to school is much better!”

Ron rolled his eyes, but she could see the undertone of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  
It wasn’t until Harry came bounding up the stairs that Hermione remembered why they had come up to the reading nook in the first place. The two immediately sprang to their feet, eager to hear what Scrimgeour had wanted with him and why he had gone so far as to interrupt Christmas with it.

“Not here.” Harry said as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, and they quickly followed him up to the attic room. 

“ _Muffliato._ ”

“Honestly, Harry--”

“Not now with that, Hermione.” Harry said impatiently.

“What’d he say, mate?” Ron asked eagerly.

“He tried to… recruit me. According to Scrimgeour, morale is low.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.” Scoffed Ron. 

“What did he ask you to do?” Hermione pressed.

“To ‘stand alongside the Ministry’. Told me it was my duty.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“No, of course!” interrupted Ron. After a moment, he looked over at Harry and said, uncertainly, “You _did_ say no?”

“I was actually quite rude to him if I’m honest…”

“Oh, _Harry_ …”

“You should’ve heard him, Hermione! Going on about how he ‘wouldn’t expect me to understand’, how these are ‘dangerous times’ and I’m only ‘sixteen years old’--”

“I’d like to see _him_ face You-Know-Who every year for nearly half his life…” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.

“And when I wouldn’t tell him where Dumbledore was disappearing to, he really lost it.”

“I _thought_ I heard him mention Dumbledore!” exclaimed Hermione. “We were listening at the balcony but I couldn’t really make out any phrases, just words. Why does he want to tail Dumbledore so badly?”

“Finds him to be a threat, I expect.”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“For all we know, Death Eaters have already infiltrated Ministry departments. Could be spreading loads of stuff about The Order and Dumbledore.”

“This is a bunch of shit.”

“Ron--” Hermione scolded.

“No, honestly, Hermione! They interrupt Christmas and cause a whole scene just to ask if Harry’ll be their little mascot.”

“Harry siding with the Ministry would be a big deal, he’d be endorsing everything they’ve done so far to protect the people--”

“Or _pretend_ like they’re protecting the people.”

“I don’t agree with how they’ve acted but you have to admit that Scrimgeour is probably grasping at straws here. The Ministry failed to believe You-Know-Who was back last year and have shown themselves to be completely incompetent at dealing with the awful things that have happened since. Scrimgeour knew he needed to find a way to get Harry alone, and he couldn’t do it at school or at his Aunt and Uncle’s house, so he used Percy as an excuse to come down here. Harry was their last chance at a lifeline.”

“Well, _I’m_ glad you said no.”

“Are you mad?” Said Harry, looking amused. “I’d never side with any team that _Umbridge_ is a part of.”

“Amen! Really, Hermione, I can’t believe you ever doubted him…”

Hermione rolled her eyes so dramatically that, had she been a cartoon, they might’ve fallen right out of her head.

“Well, what’s the plan now?” Asked Ron. 

“We go back to school I expect.” Harry collapsed, exhausted, onto his camp bed.

“I mean…” Ron looked nervously at Hermione as he spoke. “The war.”

“What’d you mean ‘what's the plan’? If I had any idea don’t you think I’d have told you?” he snapped, looking a bit uneasy.

“Harry, we don’t mean to attack you, it’s just that we thought Dumbledore might’ve said--”

“It’s hard to talk about all of it right now,” he said, cutting her off. “He hasn’t told me everything, it’s just bits and pieces.”

The trio sat in silence for a few minutes as conversation floated up from the first floor. It seemed that, now that Percy had left with Scrimgeour, things were feeling much cheerier. 

“Maybe we should go down and join everyone?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

They all looked at one another for approval of this idea, until Ron spoke up. “I’d honestly rather spend some time, just the three of us,” He glanced over at Hermione. “I missed this.”

And so the friends sat together peacefully for the first time in months, unaware of what might lie ahead but prepared for whatever would come their way; they had each other, and that was more than enough.


End file.
